


Want You, Need You

by SaraDobieBauer



Series: Learning To Be Us [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Armie Hammer - Freeform, Boss/Employee Relationship, Charmie, Dom/sub, Dominant Armie, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Submissive Timmy, Timothee Chalamet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22586956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraDobieBauer/pseuds/SaraDobieBauer
Summary: Timmy is a college intern at Armie Hammer’s architecture firm in New York, and he's hopelessly infatuated with his tyrannical boss.An accident reveals a side of Mr. Hammer that Timmy never expected.And never knew he needed.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Learning To Be Us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625227
Comments: 158
Kudos: 447





	1. Timmy

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for totally inappropriate office behavior, but meh, it's Timmy and Armie, so ...

Timmy dragged his feet by the time he walked into Mr. Hammer’s office yet again. He’d been at work since eight AM; it was almost nine PM. Mr. Hammer showed no signs of slowing down, but he did glance up momentarily when Timmy stepped inside, carrying another set of requested blueprints.

He hurriedly put them on Mr. Hammer’s desk and earned a brief glare at his need to rush. Timmy sighed. “Can I leave now?”

Mr. Hammer looked at him. Kept looking. Timmy wanted to jump the desk, right into his boss’s lap, or run for the exit. He wasn’t sure. He was never sure.

Well, he was sure of one thing: Mr. Hammer was a work of art with his perfectly shaped body, sleekly styled hair, and blue, blue eyes. Not to mention the deep voice that could enthrall and terrify in equal measure.

Suddenly, Mr. Hammer stood, and he was just fucking huge, so Timmy took a startled step back. He didn’t get far. Mr. Hammer grabbed his tie to cease his progress.

“Your tie is crooked,” he growled as if this detail was hugely offensive.

“Well—” Of course, it was crooked. Timmy had been at work all night when he was supposed to help set up Ansel’s surprise birthday party with Saoirse. She’d been texting him for hours. Her texts had become increasingly belligerent. Either she was drinking or she was just pissed at Timmy. He wouldn’t fault her either option.

Timmy froze when Mr. Hammer pulled at his tie, loosened it, and dragged it away from Timmy’s neck. “This is silk,” Mr. Hammer said.

“Uh, yeah, my mom bought it for me.” _Jesus, Timmy, way to sound like a five-year-old._ In reality, he was a twenty-two-year-old NYU student interning at Mr. Hammer’s architecture firm for the summer.

With deft fingers, Hammer flipped Timmy’s collar up and put the tie back around his neck. Timmy tried not to lean forward and rub his face all over his boss’s broad chest.

Mr. Hammer never respected Timmy’s personal space, so his current proximity wasn’t a shocker—but it did challenge Timmy’s self control. Mr. Hammer had a tendency to put his hand on Timmy’s lower back when they passed each other. Maybe he’d rest a hand on his shoulder on occasion. While looking over a complicated blueprint, he once even pushed some of Timmy’s fallen curls behind his ear. For such a cold motherfucker, he sure was tactile.

Timmy could have thought the little touches were come-ons, but, well, _come on_. What the hell would someone like Armie Hammer want with nervous little Timothee Chalamet?

Mr. Hammer folded and wrapped Timmy’s black tie into a respectable knot. Timmy was again reminded of Mr. Hammer’s hugeness—and the way he smelled like smoke and coffee and spicy aftershave. He adjusted the knot so it pressed tightly just below Timmy’s Adam’s apple. Timmy gulped and swore Mr. Hammer’s expression altered from irritation to hunger. God, the man looked downright starved. When had he last eaten?

Timmy’s thoughts were interrupted when—for no foreseeable reason—Hammer ran his hands down the sides of Timmy’s waist coat. His fingers left fire in their wake.

“So.” Timmy cleared his throat, his mouth now vacant of moisture. “Can I please go home now?”

Mr. Hammer turned away and returned to behind his desk. “What time is it?” 

“Nine.”

Mr. Hammer sighed. Apparently, time was so very inconvenient. “I need you back here at six tomorrow morning.”

“Six?” Timmy squeaked. “Tomorrow is Saturday!”

Mr. Hammer didn’t look up. “Seven then.” He unrolled the blueprint Timmy had just brought in and placed strategic paperweights at its corners to keep it from rolling up again.

Timmy didn’t say anything as he left, probably because he was afraid he was going to start crying. In the elevator, he closed his eyes tight and willed the tears away.

It was a stupid thing to cry about, having to work on a Saturday, but Timmy was exhausted. He felt like Mr. Hammer was punishing him, but for what? Timmy was just a summer intern and a damn good one at that. He dealt with Mr. Hammer when most of the other interns ran when they saw him coming. Timmy was constantly at his boss’s beck and call, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be.

Plus, his growing—and frankly embarrassing—attraction to Mr. Hammer was getting to be a liability. He was legitimately afraid that if Hammer showed up in another new Armani suit, Timmy might fall to his knees in worship.

Quitting the internship was an impossibility. If he wanted to be an architect in New York City, he could not piss off Armie Hammer. He was considered a dominant king of the industry, which was why Timmy had applied for the internship in the first place. He had wanted to learn from Mr. Hammer.

Maybe in the office and the bedroom.

_No, no, stop fantasizing, you fool._

“Fuck my life,” he muttered as the elevator opened on the ground floor. He rushed out into the lobby.

By the time he got to Ansel’s, it would be almost ten. Timmy would have two hours of fun with friends he rarely had time for before he’d have to go home and get some godforsaken sleep.

And spend all of Saturday rocking a semi while trailing behind Mr. Hammer like a puppy. Not that he was complaining. His boss had an excellent ass.

Timmy had to survive the next two months of his internship if he was ever going to design buildings in New York. If Mr. Hammer wanted to ruin his reputation, he could, so Timmy would keep putting in the hours and hope Hammer never noticed Timmy blushed whenever he stood too close. He shook his head, trying to transform from “work Timmy” into “party Timmy.”

Outside, the air was still sticky and warm with late June heat. Timmy started walking toward the nearest subway station but stopped and spun around, looking to hail a taxi. He was already so damn late.

A taxi pulled up quickly, right in front of the massive skyscraper Mr. Hammer designed before Timmy even hit puberty. He leaped in the back like a ballerina and spouted off Ansel’s address. Before the car started moving, though, Timmy heard a metallic crash and was jarred forward. His head cracked against the Plexiglas divider, but he didn’t even register the pain before everything went black.

***

The beeping machines hurt his head. As Timmy slowly regained consciousness, everything hurt, but mostly his head and jaw. He winced when he breathed. He tried to blink his eyes open, but it took three attempts before he was successful—and immediately regretted it because the fluorescents above might as well have been the sun, ten feet away, and just waiting to sear his retinas.

“Fuck,” he muttered. Damn, talking hurt, too.

But then, there was a weight on the side of his hospital bed and a hand running through his hair, and okay, that felt lovely. He shifted his bleary gaze to the right, and he must have been on some amazing painkillers because he hallucinated his boss, Mr. Hammer, above him, petting him, and looking worried as hell.

“Timmy.” His name sounded like it echoed through a tunnel.

“Mm-hmm.” He winced and sort of choke-sobbed. He didn’t understand the sound coming from his throat, but he definitely knew it hurt.

“You need more pain meds,” Hammer said and stood immediately.

Timmy tried to sit up but was held down against the bed by a freakishly strong hand on the center of his chest.

“Don’t even think about moving,” his boss commanded before lifting his hand away and shouting down the hall: “NURSE!”

Timmy squeezed his eyes shut. “Could you lower your voice?” he mumbled, certain Hammer didn’t hear him.

Somehow, he must have, because his boss returned to Timmy’s bedside and kept petting his hair. “Yes, of course,” he whispered.

Timmy hummed at his touch. He should have ducked the attentions for fear of giving his infatuation away, but well, his hand sure felt good in Timmy’s hair.

A nurse scurried in, the fear of God in her face. Timmy assumed Mr. Hammer had been his “charming” self if she was that scared of him. “Sir?” she asked, then noticed Timmy. “Oh, he’s awake.” She circled to the left side of Timmy’s bed as though terrified of asking Mr. Hammer to move from his perch at Timmy’s hip. “How’s your head?” She was only a few years older than Timmy with dark red, curly hair.

“It hurts.”

“I’m not surprised.” She magically made two white pills appear, along with a paper cup of water.

Timmy swallowed it all gratefully. “What happened?” he asked.

Mr. Hammer stood stiffly and spoke through clenched teeth: “Your taxi was demolished by a drunk driver. He could have killed you.”

“Oh.” Right. The metallic sound. The sudden surge forward. It was slowly coming back to him.

“You took the brunt of it,” the nurse said. “But nothing serious. You don't have a concussion, so you can go home whenever. Is there anyone who can stay with you? Keep an eye on you tonight? We like to be cautious with head injuries.”

The immediate answer was no. Timmy lived alone, and all of his best friends were at Ansel’s birthday party, enjoying themselves. He could probably get Saoirse to come over. Then again, she was probably drunk. How much help was a drunk Saoirse going to be?

“He’s staying with me,” Mr. Hammer said.

Damn, even Timmy’s shocked face hurt.

“All right,” the nurse said. Timmy sensed she really wanted to get Mr. Hammer out of there. He was, after all, a frightening human—who seemed out-of-character agitated. His hands were shoved in his pants pockets, and his shoulders were tense up around his ears. “Let me just get his discharge papers and a prescription for the pills. He’ll have a headache on and off for the next few days.”

“Make it quick. I’d like to get him home.”

The nurse basically sprinted from the room, and Timmy registered the word “home.” To Hammer’s house? Oh, no, that was asking for trouble.

Timmy tried sitting up again, and his boss’s hand—again—pushed him back down. “Mr. Hammer, you don’t have to take of me. I’ll be fine.”

He pressed his lips together and gave one frantic shake of his head. “Just let me do this, Timmy. And, for fuck’s sake, call me Armie.”

While _Armie_ went through paperwork with the nurse, Timmy cautiously changed out of his hospital gown and into his clothes. There was blood all over his white dress shirt, the realization of which made him reach up and touch his pounding head. He wore a thick, square bandage, taped to his left temple. He gasped when his hand made contact with what would probably end up a scar. Good thing his hair would cover it.

Armie must have been a ninja, because Timmy didn’t even notice his presence right behind him until he dragged Timmy’s hand away from his head. “Don’t touch that, please.”

He did as told. He always did exactly what Armie told him to do. After a month working together, it was practically a reflex, like Armie had a magic wand controlling Timmy’s every move.

Armie insisted on pushing Timmy down the hallway in a wheelchair, which stayed with them in the elevator, through a lobby that reeked of cheap cafeteria food, and out into the humid night.

A beautiful black car waited at the sidewalk, because Armie was Armie. A chauffeur in an unobtrusive black suit exited the driver’s seat, circled the car, and opened the back door.

Timmy moved to stand, but as soon as he leaned forward, Armie picked him up with an arm beneath his knees and around his upper back.

“Wait! I don’t—” It was no use arguing, because before Timmy could protest in full, he was already in the town car’s backseat, being buckled in by his boss. Armie slid in next to him, the driver returned to his seat, and they were off. The whole event was practically choreographed.

Armie insisted on carrying Timmy again once they arrived at his building. “Mr. Ha—Armie, this is ridicu—” _Oh, wow, pain pills._ Timmy closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the side of Armie’s jaw. He clung to the front of Armie’s expensive suit, and his boss’s grip tightened as Timmy floated both physically and mentally.

Up in Armie’s penthouse, Timmy had three seconds to gawk at its enormity.

“I’ve only seen apartments like this in movies,” he said, but he was soon whisked away down a long, dark hall.

The bedroom was as vast as the rest of the place, decorated in shades of blue. Its centerpiece was a king-sized bed with too many pillows. Armie set Timmy on his feet right next to said bed. “Can you stand?” he asked.

“‘Course,” Timmy replied, although he wasn’t sure. Everything was fuzzy, but at least his head didn’t hurt anymore.

Timmy hadn’t bothered putting on his tie, waistcoat, or jacket at the hospital, so he only wore his bloody dress shirt, slacks, and shoes. When Armie started unbuttoning his shirt, Timmy didn’t stop him. “Infatuated college student Timmy” would have curled into a humiliated ball on the floor. “High on pain pills Timmy,” though, stared up at his gorgeous boss with his mouth half-open.

“Hey, why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset,” Armie said. He pushed the unbuttoned shirt from Timmy’s shoulders and let it fall to the ground. His fingertips momentarily tickled Timmy’s collarbone.

“Yeah, you are. This always shows up when you’re upset.” Timmy poked the deep wrinkle between Armie’s eyes.

Armie pushed his hand away gently and unbuckled Timmy’s belt. As he unzipped Timmy’s slacks, it could have been weird but wasn’t. He pulled Timmy’s pants down and made him sit on the edge of the bed to remove Timmy’s shoes and socks before removing his pants all the way.

He put his hand on Timmy’s shoulder. “Lay down.”

Timmy tumbled sideways. The right side of his face settled into a sumptuous pillow. “Your sheets are better than mine,” he mumbled.

Eyes already shut, he felt himself being maneuvered and moved until silky blankets covered his body. He sunk a little deeper into the mattress. Timmy was tired and high on drugs. His body was like jelly.

Somewhere between sleeping and waking, Timmy thought he felt a hand on his cheek, fingers in his hair. He might have heard a quiet, “I need to take better care of you,” but he couldn’t be sure.


	2. Armie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the chapter titles! POV will go back and forth!

Timmy felt perfect in Armie’s embrace, just like he’d fantasized he would for the past few weeks. Fantasies that fed Armie’s instinct to dominate and care.

The urge had been immediate—that need to protect, pleasure, and punish. A deep part of Armie had recognized Timmy as soon as he’d walked into Armie’s office. Timmy with his natural beauty, stooping shoulders, and eyes that flitted from Armie’s, away, and back again.

Armie had worked with dozens of interns, but none of the young men had ever been so magnetic. Wherever Timmy was, Armie’s eyes followed. He touched him as often as he could—small caresses of his shoulder or lower back. He knew it was inappropriate, but any excuse to get close, closer, to the beautiful young creature that now owned Armie’s every thought.

And it wasn’t one-sided. Maybe Timmy thought his hungry glances were covert, but they weren’t. The pink-tinted cheeks whenever Armie touched him were further evidence of Timmy’s reciprocated attraction.

Now, Armie had Timmy in his bed, wrapped up safely in his arms. Where he belonged.

The sirens the night before had incited immediate panic, almost like Armie knew Timmy was hurt. He’d lunged into the elevator, cussed it out for going too slowly. Seeing Timmy, unconscious and bleeding while being lifted into an ambulance? Armie’s knees had almost buckled. What if Timmy had died? What if he’d been stolen away before they could explore their connection, fulfill each others' need?

Timmy hadn’t died. He now breathed softly in Armie’s embrace as the sun slowly rose outside.

Armie knew the moment he woke up because Timmy’s muscles tensed, and he stopped breathing for a good twenty seconds.

“You’re awake,” Armie said.

A pause. “Are you spooning me, or am I hallucinating due to brain damage?”

Armie slowly pulled away and rolled free of the bed. “I was making sure you didn’t flop around in your sleep and tear at your stitches.” Which was partially true.

Timmy glanced over his pale shoulder at Armie, and God, what a sight: Timmy sleep-soft and ruffled. When he made eye contact, Timmy’s pale cheeks turned pink, as usual.

“Do you need pain pills?”

“No.” He dropped his head back to the pillow. “They make me feel funny.”

“I’ll cook you breakfast.” Armie stopped by his dresser and pulled out a t-shirt and sweatpants. “I’d rather not see you covered in blood again today. Put these on.” He tossed the items on the foot of his bed and went to leave. Armie didn’t need to get dressed because he’d never changed out of his work clothes—and he still wouldn’t because they now smelled like Timmy.

Timmy sat up in bed. He was skinner than his business suits portended, skin and bones but still beautiful in his fragility. “I should really go, Mr. Ha—Armie. I’ve taken advantage of your hospitality enough. I mean, shit, you let me sleep in your bed.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Armie said as he left the room.

In the kitchen, Armie got the coffee pot going first. He then pulled eggs, bacon, and bread from the fridge. After all he’d been through, Timmy needed a full breakfast, and Armie would provide. He was willing to provide anything Timmy needed actually.

Timmy shuffled out from the hallway a few minutes later. As expected, Armie loved seeing Timmy in his too-big clothes. The image screamed of ownership. Timmy stood there, dancing slightly from foot to foot. “Um …”

Armie stirred the bright yellow eggs in the skillet with a spatula. “What is it, Timmy?”

“Where’s my phone?” The single question sounded like several questions. Questions like: have I actually been kidnapped? Are you a serial killer? Will they ever find my body? Armie thought he heard a touch of “Will you please fuck me,” but he could have been imagining that.

“On the table by the front door.”

“Oh.” He almost tripped over the bottoms of Armie’s too-long sweatpants as he went. God, he looked tiny.

Timmy didn’t look tiny in business suits; Timmy was actually tall, but right then, he looked small and Armie wanted to eat him alive.

“Shit,” Timmy said while looking at his cell phone’s display.

Bacon sizzled.

“Everything all right?” Armie asked and buttered warm toast.

Timmy sighed. “Yeah. My friends are just pissed at me.”

“You were in a serious car accident. They have no right to be pissed.”

Timmy itched his head near the bandage. “Well, they don’t know that.” He tapped away at the screen.

Armie piled a plate high with food. “Come and eat. How do you take your coffee?”

Timmy looked up at him from across the room, his eyes almost completely covered by hair. “Oh, uh, black.” He made no indication of coming closer.

Armie set Timmy’s plate on the kitchen island and crossed his arms. “Are you scared of me, Timmy?”

He made a quiet whimper sound. “No. I mean … I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’ve never seen you be nice before, and it’s kind of wigging me out.”

Armie smirked. “I’m nice to people I care about.”

Timmy pointed at his own chest and then, comically, looked over both his shoulders as though seeking whomever the hell Armie might be talking about.

“Come and eat.”

Finally, Timmy moved and slid onto the bar stool in front of his steaming plate of food. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“I’m taking care of you first.” He filled a coffee mug and placed it close to Timmy’s right hand.

Timmy took a tentative bite of toast.

“I have something I’d like to discuss with you,” Armie said.

Before he could even swallow his first bite, Timmy sputtered, “Oh, my God, I’m fired, aren’t I?”

Armie lowered his brows. “Why would you be fired?”

The words came out in a loud rush. “Because I have a crush on you, and now, I feel like you’re purposely terrorizing me by bringing me to your house and letting me sleep in your bed. Like you’re making fun of my stupid schoolboy infatuation before kicking me out of your office for being unprofessional!” He looked away, and a muscle popped in his jaw.

Armie wasn’t one for laughter, so he surprised even himself when a guffaw burst forth.

Timmy shoved away from the counter and moved for Armie’s bedroom, but Armie grabbed Timmy’s wrist to stop him. When Timmy tried pulling his wrist free, Armie held harder and tugged Timmy forward. Stumbling, Timmy ran into Armie’s chest and bounced back like a rubber ball.

He tried pulling away again. “Let go,” he said, face bright red.

“Calm down,” Armie replied.

Timmy pulled harder, so Armie used his hand on Timmy’s wrist to spin him in a pirouette and pull him back against Armie’s chest. Armie didn’t need to hold Timmy’s wrist anymore because now, he had Timmy trapped snuggly in his arms.

Which did not detract from Timmy’s struggling. He shimmied back and forth in an effort at escape. “Let go!” he shouted.

Armie leaned down so he could speak directly in Timmy’s ear. “You’re not fired. And I’m glad you have a crush on me, because I have a lot more than a crush on you.”

Timmy was out of breath from fighting when he asked, “What?”

Armie kept his voice deep and steady. “I need you to calm down now. Then, we can talk.”

Timmy’s shoulders wilted on a heavy sigh.

“Timmy. Promise you’ll be calm.”

He whined. “My head hurts.”

“Eat your breakfast. I won’t let you take ibuprofen on an empty stomach.” Slowly, Armie let Timmy go, but he kept a hand on his lower back while leading him back to his stool and food that was, at best, lukewarm. Armie lingered behind him and gently rubbed Timmy’s neck and shoulders while he ate.

“This is the _Twilight Zone_ ,” Timmy muttered.

“No, it’s me giving in to you.”

“Giving in to _me_?” He looked over his shoulder, and Armie tucked a few wicked curls behind his ear.

“Very much so.” Armie had been so damn well behaved for weeks. Unable to stop himself anymore, he leaned forward and kissed the bit of revealed skin between the t-shirt and tips of Timmy’s hair.

As if on impulse, Timmy tilted his head to the side, so Armie kept kissing the soft skin of his neck.

“Fuck,” Timmy whispered.

Armie smiled with his lips still tickling Timmy’s skin. “One more bite of food, and we’ll talk.”

Timmy scooped a heaping forkful of eggs into his mouth, dropped his fork with a clatter, and spun around on the stool, immediately reaching for the front of Armie’s shirt to pull his mouth down to his.

“No, baby.” Armie shook his head. “Talk first.”

Christ, Timmy’s green eyes were already glazed, cheeks flushed. Tempting as he looked, Armie was a seasoned dom and would not start something without discussion.

“Come on.” He lifted Timmy by his thighs and wrapped his legs around his waist. Timmy clung to Armie’s shoulders and buried his face in the crook of Armie’s neck.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“My bedroom,” Armie replied, and Timmy shivered in his arms.


	3. Timmy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Timmy's POV ...

Timmy’s body was doing very embarrassing things, and he would have hidden in the closet if Armie hadn’t been so calm about the whole mess. Sitting in the middle of Armie’s huge bed, Timmy still had no clue what was going on—but he thought he liked it, whatever _it_ was.

One thing was certain: Armie Hammer wanted him, and Timmy didn’t know why. He was a nothing, a nobody. He thought of himself as moderately attractive, too skinny, and awkward as hell, yet he could still feel the burn of Armie’s lips on his neck. Timmy couldn’t believe he’d spun around and reached for Armie. Timmy had always been meek in bed, so what had possessed him to try and climb his boss like a tree?

Head swirling with confusion and pain, Timmy sucked his lower lip into his mouth when Armie emerged from the master bathroom with a glass of water and pills.

He extended the hand with two little red tablets. “Take these.”

Timmy swallowed the pills and chugged half the glass of water. His mouth was dry; nervousness had sucked all the moisture from his head.

Armie, the great giant of a man, curled his legs beneath him and sat right in front of Timmy. He rested a hand on Timmy’s knee. “Have you ever had anyone dom for you before?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged.

“Then, you haven’t.” Armie’s brow furrowed. He looked to be composing his thoughts. “Since the first time I saw you, I’ve wanted you.”

Timmy snorted. “That’s … no, what? I’m not …” _Sexy._ “And you’re …” _Hot as fuck._ “I’m just …” _Nobody._ “What?”

“You bring something out in me. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. Years, actually. A deep need to protect, pleasure, and control.”

Okay, well, most of that sounded weird as shit. Timmy leaned back in the wall of pillows and addressed the word that concerned him most. “Control?”

“You may have noticed me doing it already. Without your permission, for which I apologize.” He ran his hand across his chin. Timmy had to admit Armie looked incredible with a day’s worth of stubble. “I can’t help touching you when you’re around, shielding you. It’s become almost an addiction, like I need you around constantly.”

“All those long work hours? I just thought you were trying to be a hard ass.”

Armie shook his head. “I wanted you close. I had planned to address this topic at the end of your internship, but last night moved it up. I almost lost you, and I can’t handle that.”

Timmy drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. “You don’t even know me.”

“But I know what you need.”

“What’s that?” Timmy was almost scared to ask.

“Someone like me.” Armie wrapped his fingers around Timmy’s foot, and his thumb rubbed across his ankle. “You like when I touch you. You like when I adjust your clothes or your hair. You like when I’m strict with you. That’s what you want: someone to care for your needs. Someone to take control.”

And why was Timmy getting hard in Armie’s huge sweatpants? He curled his knees in tighter. “I … don’t know what that means.”

Armie scooted closer. “It can mean whatever you prefer. Do you want to have sex with me?”

Timmy chuckled. “Who wouldn’t?”

When Armie cupped his cheek, Timmy’s eyes fell closed of their own volition. "Then, I could simply be your dom in bed. I would control your pleasure. And pain.”

Timmy’s dick twitched. “How?”

“There’s a lot of ways. Would you like me to tie you up?”

“Mm-hmm.” He didn’t even have to think about it.

Even with his eyes still shut, Timmy heard the smile in Armie’s voice. “There’s that way, then.” Armie’s hand moved to the back of Timmy’s head. He gripped a handful of Timmy’s hair and pulled slowly but forcefully until Timmy’s chin pointed to the ceiling. “You wouldn’t be allowed to come until I let you.”

Armie nosed at the front of Timmy’s neck, and Timmy moaned helplessly. God, he was so fucking hard.

As if Armie knew—knew every secret Timmy had ever kept—he asked, “May I touch you?”

“Yes, please, please, please.” He felt barely coherent, no pain pills required.

Timmy jolted when Armie’s hand reached inside his sweatpants and wrapped around his cock, but he didn’t move, just held. “If you want, I could be your dom in life, too. I would choose your clothes, what you eat. Those sorts of things. Would you like that?”

Timmy chuckled. “No,” he said because that kind of control just sounded like too much. He was surprised he had enough brainpower to even think that thought, what with the way Armie’s huge hand rubbed slowly up and down his shaft. Timmy spread his thighs wide and clawed at Armie’s forearm.

“That’s all right,” Armie whispered against his ear. “I still might be a little possessive in public, though. I already have been, but now that we’re discussing making this official, holding back will be even more difficult. Will you forgive me if I sometimes act like a lion with her cub?”

Timmy nodded with his head pressed against Armie’s shoulder. “I like that you want to protect me.”

“I might not be able to control drunk drivers, but I can do my best.” He sucked Timmy’s earlobe into his mouth. “Will you come for me?”

Again, Timmy nodded with his face shoved against the muscles of Armie’s chest—at least until Armie took hold of his chin and forced his head up. The fucking ravenous look on Armie’s face would have been a little scary if Armie’s hand hadn’t felt so good wrapped around his dick.

Armie studied his face. “You are so goddamn stunning. I want to wreck you.”

That did it. Timmy’s chest lurched when he came, but the pleasure was too intense for sound. Even though Timmy’s mouth hung open, he didn’t make a whimper or a groan. And suddenly, Armie’s tongue was licking into his mouth, and Timmy accepted it gladly. He wrapped his hands around the back of Armie’s head and pulled him closer, closer, until Timmy somehow managed to end up on his back with Armie crushing him into the mattress. Their initial kissing could have drawn blood until Armie slowed the pace by gently sucking Timmy’s lips into his mouth—top one, bottom one, and back again.

Timmy felt like he might spontaneously combust. “Will you fuck me please?”

Armie leaned back. “Not today. I’m going to make you wait.”

Timmy melted into the bed; his arms sprawled wide against pillows and sheets. “Tease.”

Armie snorted. 

Timmy reached up and traced invisible paths down Armie’s face. “No one like you has ever looked twice at me.”

Armie’s forehead wrinkled. “I think you have a sincerely incorrect opinion of yourself. No sane gay man could resist this mouth.” He touched it with the tip of his finger. “This hair. This fucking perfect nose. The way you caress your neck when you’re nervous.”

“I didn’t know you were paying such close attention.”

Armie studied his face. “You’re all I see sometimes.”

“Is it okay if this makes me kind of nervous?”

Armie nodded and reached his hand up the bottom of Timmy’s t-shirt to caress his bare skin. “Mm-hmm. But, after a bit of time, you’ll find that giving yourself to me brings peace you’ve never known. As your dom, I can shut out the world, even if for only a short time.”

Christ, but that sounded good. Timmy pulled on the front of Armie’s shirt. “Then, why won’t you fuck me?”

Armie smiled—such a rare thing and something Timmy had certainly never seen at the office. “I move slowly, especially since you’ve never had a dom before. We’ll ease into things.”

“Even tying me up?”

He ran a thumb across Timmy’s left eyebrow and then his right. “Yes. You’ll look beautiful in rope.”

Timmy thumped his head back against the bed. “I think I’m getting hard again.”

Armie hummed with his mouth tucked beneath Timmy’s jaw. “Short refractory period. Good. I wonder how many times I can get you to come in one night.”

Timmy wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “Fuck, Armie. Thank God for car accidents.”

“We would have happened eventually.” He sucked the side of Timmy’s neck. “I wouldn’t have let you go.”

A warm wave washed through Timmy’s entire body. “Is it weird that I want to be … it sounds so cliché … _dominated?”_

“No.” Armie unwound Timmy’s hands from behind his back and pinned them on the bed above his head. He exerted his full weight into his hands, and Timmy felt utterly helpless—and loved it. “It’s what you need, but nobody’s ever given it to you before.”

Timmy stared at the man above him and quickly scrolled through his sexual history. Of course, Armie was right. It had been lackluster, at best. No one had ever made him feel on fire, quick to beg. Desperate. Which was when he realized that this could be dangerous.

“What’s the matter?” Armie asked.

“Nothing.”

“You’re upset.” He poked the space between Timmy’s brows. “You also get a thing here when you’re upset.”

Timmy blinked away what might have been a tear. And why the fuck was he crying when he’d finally found someone he needed—and needed him right back? Voice trembling, he whispered, “Don’t hurt me, okay?”

They both knew he didn’t mean physically.

Armie’s jaw clenched. “I would never.” He then rolled onto his side and scooped Timmy up with him. Timmy cuddled against Armie’s chest and sank into the warm embrace of his boss, his lover. The newly discovered map to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of you know I'm going to Paris from March 3-23 to sleep at Shakespeare and Company and drink too much wine.
> 
> As I indicated, this is the first part of a series. However, I don't know (yet) when the series will continue, whether pre-Paris or post-Paris. (I'll be unplugging a lot while over there.)
> 
> Anyway, just wanted to say: don't fret. There will be MORE. I'm just not sure when. 
> 
> Thanks for all the amazing support! Love to all of you! Writing is hard. You keep me going.

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me on [Tumblr](http://saradobiebauer.tumblr.com/)! I'm ridiculously in love with Timmy over there.


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